Musings of the Mad

I wrote this poem for me, you see?

And not at all for you.

Wait, you expected more from me?

I only tell the truth.

You may call me vain, but you

Do not know who I am.

If you loved you as I love me

Well, then you’d understand.

See, I cross out more than I keep

One must to keep one’s head

A jumbled disappointment mess

Wou’d drive a sane man mad.

So, leave me with eccentricity

I’ll leave you with your wounds.

You’ll never even hear from me

And that will be too soon.